


Tidings of Comfort and Joy

by flecksofpoppy



Series: A Little Faith-verse Companion Pieces [4]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: A Little Faith-verse, Alternate Universe - 1990s, Backstory, Christmas Fluff, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Reibert - Freeform, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 05:40:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2376842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reiner and Bertolt celebrate their first Christmas together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tidings of Comfort and Joy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quartetship](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/gifts).



> This is a birthday gift for the lovely quartetship! Hope you like it, bb!
> 
> And no, I don't know why I'm writing Christmas fic in freaking September.

“How about this one?” Reiner asks with a grin, turning to face Bertolt.

Bertolt tilts his head to the side, studying the tree. He’s not sure if it will even fit into their tiny living room, though Reiner seems to be determined to make it fit.

“I don’t know,” he replies with a quirked eyebrow. “I think it’s too tall.”

Reiner is apparently doing his best to pick a tree that’s as broad and tall as he is.

“I think it’ll fit,” he insists, giving Bertolt a pleading look with raised eyebrows and a hopeful light in his eye.

The snow is falling softly around them in the tree lot, and there’s an edge to the wind now. The green and red vinyl banner stretched across the entrance, boasting in large letters “Trost Christmas Trees” is flapping gently in the wind. Bertolt is generally like a space heater—according to Reiner—but even he’s getting cold as it grows increasingly brisk out.

“Okay, okay,” he finally sighs, rolling his eyes slightly as a huge, one hundred watt grin lights up Reiner’s face. “But if it doesn’t fit, you get to carry it back here.”

“It’ll fit!” Reiner exclaims. “I’ll make it fit.”

Bertolt levels Reiner with a skeptical look, but then smiles a little. Reiner’s excitement is palpable; he’s always been a holiday person. He loves Christmas, when the streets are decorated, people are kinder, and the entire atmosphere is festive.

One year, when they’d gotten drunk by accident on liquor Reiner had pilfered from somewhere, he’d told Bertolt as they sat in the park that nothing bad was supposed to happen on Christmas, how this time of year is supposed to be magical.

Reiner wants to believe in magic; he’s just that type of person. He also gets very excited about Christmas trees, as evidenced by his excited yammering about how they can decorate it with popcorn and make their own ornaments.

“Bertl?” Reiner asks.

Bertolt blinks, startled out of his thoughts as he focuses on Reiner who seems to be waiting for a response.

“What?” Bertolt replies. “Sorry.”

“Do you have that wad of cash for the tree?”

“Oh, yeah,” Bertolt nods, fishing around in his pocket. He realizes that Reiner’s started haggling with the tree lot owner, and apparently had gotten him down to the meager price they can afford.

He hands Reiner the wad of cash—feeling a little twinge as he does, since it just seems like a waste of money—and Reiner forks it over with that smile still on his face.

Okay, maybe not a waste. 

“You’re going to _carry_ it back?” the owner asks in surprise as he pockets the cash. 

Reiner gives a cocky grin and nod of his head. “I’m strong, and we live right down the street.”

Bertolt smiles a little, biting his lip and looking down at the ground, blushing slightly.

“Yeah,” he agrees, nodding at the man who’s giving Reiner’s an incredulous look. “He can carry just about anything.”

After the tree is fed through the netting machine, the owner’s eyes widen as Reiner hauls the tree easily over one shoulder and turns to start the walk back toward their apartment.

“Just like that?” the man asks in disbelief.

Reiner laughs a little, and just keeps going.

Bertolt gives the owner a little shrug, and then jogs to catch up with Reiner.

After a few minutes of trudging through the light snow on the ground and Bertolt acting as a black ice spotter, Reiner grunts, “Okay, it’s a little heavy.”

Bertolt laughs. “Let me carry it the rest of the way,” he offers. “It’s only another block away.”

Reiner gives him a side eye, but nevertheless, he stops and carefully props the tree up on the sidewalk, hanging onto it so it doesn’t fall over.

“I forget how strong you are,” he says, poking Bertolt lightly in the shoulder through his heavy down parka. The jacket is Reiner’s early Christmas gift to him after realizing Bertolt had been wearing a hoodie to work every day because his old jacket had fallen apart. Of course, Bertolt had just suffered in silence, like he usually did.

He has to admit it’s nice to not have wind burn, though.

“I’m not as strong as you,” Bertolt retorts, reaching out to grab the tree with a smile and balance it on the ground. Reiner grins at him, and takes a step forward; they both hesitate, but then Reiner pecks him on the lips affectionately. 

“Christmas in the gayborhood,” he laughs, drawing away. Bertolt smiles at the term for their neighborhood and its very high population of those leaning toward the queer end of the spectrum.

“Oh!” Reiner exclaims. “That reminds me... are you going to your holiday party?”

Bertolt’s eyes widen and he immediately flushes. “Um,” he replies awkwardly, shuffling his feet awkwardly as his eyes immediately drop to the ground. “How’d you know about that?”

He can feel Reiner looking at him—as if he knows Bertolt was going to conveniently “forget”—but he knows Reiner’s won’t make him go if he really doesn’t want to.

“That girl at the front desk mentioned it to me the other day when I picked you up,” Reiner replies, and his voice is immediately gentle. “She actually kept asking me if you were going to come.”

Bertolt bites his lip and sneaks a look up at Reiner, raising his eyes slightly.

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” Reiner says, reaching out a hand to pat Bertolt’s shoulder. “But... it might be nice to, um...” He falters, trailing off awkwardly.

Bertolt raises his eyes fully now to look at Reiner. “Nice to what?” he asks curiously, genuinely not having a clue what Reiner’s going to say.

“To go out as a couple,” Reiner blurts out. Now, he’s blushing faintly, although it could also just be the cold. “You know, together, during the holidays.”

Suddenly, it clicks: Reiner wants to spend their first Christmas together in an actual home as a couple, doing things that normal couples do—work holiday parties, Christmas tree purchases, decorating. 

He’d even suggested ice skating, but Bertolt had finally put his foot down on that one; mostly because he’s relatively sure he would be putting his ass down on the ice otherwise. And too many people.

“Oh,” Bertolt finally says, nodding. “Because everyone knows we’re...”

Reiner hums, nodding his head. Then, he smiles a little as he reaches out again to brush a few snowflakes off Bertolt’s hair. 

Bertolt internally sighs. He’s such a pushover when it comes to Reiner’s enthusiasm for things.

He sighs heavily, and finally murmurs, “All right—we can go.”

Reiner’s face lights up in delight, and he nods enthusiastically. “Will you make cookies, too?”

Bertolt is immediately about to protest and self-combust as his face heats, but Reiner looks so desperately eager, he hesitates.

“It was what’s-her-name’s idea!” Reiner adds emphatically. “At front the front desk. Um,” he smiles with half his mouth, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “She sort of begged me to convince you.”

Bertolt raises both eyebrows and self-consciously zips his already-zipped-up parka to the neck, hiding his chin in it as he bites his lip.

There’s a short stint of charged silence as Reiner waits for the verdict, but then finally, Bertolt replies. “ _All right_. But that doesn’t mean I’m doing it next year.”

Reiner practically knocks Bertolt and the tree over as he bounds forward to hug him, fingers immediately sliding up into Bertolt’s hair as he rests his face against Bertolt’s neck. His breath is warm, and Bertolt can _feel_ the smile.

“It’ll be fun,” he murmurs. “I promise. And if it’s too much, we’ll leave and just hang out at home. Okay?”

Bertolt sighs a little, but he nods, feeling warmth spread through him that has nothing to do with the heavy jacket he’s wearing.

They manage to fit the tree in the living room—with a slight adjustment that involves Reiner sawing through the very top with a serrated kitchen knife—and Bertolt has to admit that getting it might have been a good idea.

They sit on the couch together, admiring the as-of-yet undecorated tree, and Bertolt falls asleep with his head on Reiner’s shoulder.

= = =

Bertolt is staring at a multitude tiny, multicolored lights above the bed wrapped around the window, before his eyes shut again and he gasps.

The bed is creaking as Reiner bobs his head, and Bertolt whines and moans, his knees pulled up and his legs spread open as Reiner blows him. One hand is pressed against the back of Reiner’s head, the other fisted in the sheets. His back is arched and he’s sweaty as he struggles to keep his hips still as Reiner works his tongue and lips; then, the forceful jerk of Reiner’s hands as he pulls Bertolt’s knees over his shoulders pushes Bertolt over the edge.

“Reiner,” Bertolt gasps, his legs trembling as he comes, and then his body relaxes.

Then, there’s the typical slide of Reiner up to him, that affectionate nuzzle against his shoulder, and Reiner’s arm wrapped firmly around him.

“How was that?” he asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Reiner has apparently made it his own, personal mission to learn how to give Bertolt the perfect blow job, and has thrown himself into this task with surprising enthusiasm.

They’ve come a long way in six months.

“Mm,” Bertolt mumbles, sleepy and sated, “you get an A.”

“Not an A- _plus_?”

“You only get an A-plus once these lights come down,” Bertolt teases, poking Reiner’s hand.

There’s a short silence, and Bertolt opens his eyes when Reiner doesn’t banter back at him. When he rolls over, he’s surprised to see Reiner’s downcast eyes, looking discouraged.

“Hey,” he says softly, reaching up to cup Reiner’s face, “I was just joking.”

Reiner shrugs, and the mutters like a schoolboy caught breaking a rule, “I like Christmas. And...” he hazards a look up at Bertolt, “it’s going to be our first one together.”

“We’ve celebrated Christmas together every year,” Bertolt replies, his eyebrows raising.

No matter where “home” has been—which is to say nowhere permanent—Reiner and Bertolt had decided at some point that one of the giant pine trees in Trost Memorial Park was “their” Christmas tree. 

Every Christmas Eve, they’d sit there together in front of the massive tree. If it was clear, Bertolt would point out constellations he knew in the cold sky, and Reiner would keep him warm. If it was snowing, they’d just sit there on a park bench and watch it fall.

“I know,” Reiner nods in agreement, smiling faintly. “But this year is different.”

“Yeah,” Bertolt sighs, conceding the point. “You’re right.” He trails his fingers down from Reiner’s jaw to his shoulder, rubbing his thumb against the ball of it idly.

Six months ago, they wouldn’t have been able to lie in bed like this together. Reiner would have balked in embarrassment at giving Bertolt a blow job—more nerves than anything else, though—and Bertolt would have had an even harder time accepting the jacket as a gift.

But things aren’t like that now. Every time Bertolt puts his jacket on that Reiner gave him, instead of feeling shame that money was wasted on him, he feels a little spike of joy because it’s from Reiner.

He focuses his attention back on Reiner who’s still looking a little sheepish. There’s even a faint flush to his cheeks, and Bertolt realizes he’s underestimated how much this means to Reiner.

He fights the urge to sigh silently, and mumbles in resignation, “I’ll make a popcorn chain.”

Reiner’s eyes widen as he looks up in surprise to meet Bertolt’s eyes. “Huh?” he asks, blinking in surprise.

“I...” Bertolt frowns a little and bites his lip, but keeps talking, “I’ll make a popcorn chain for the tree, if you show me how.”

Bertolt immediately lets out a startled almost-squeak as two very strong, muscular arms wrap around him and pull him close.

“Thanks, Bertl,” comes the soft, affectionate voice. “I know you’re not really into holiday stuff, but...”

“It’s not that,” Bertolt blurts out, reaching up to brush his fingers over Reiner’s back now. “I just don’t get it. But...” he trails off, pressing a kiss against Reiner’s shoulder. He loves that they’re both naked now for the vast majority of the time they spend in bed together. “I want to do it with you.”

Reiner doesn’t reply right away, but his arms tighten a little, and he tangles their legs together.

“It’ll be fun,” he murmurs, excited again. Bertolt can’t help but smile a little when he hears what’s undoubtedly a megawatt grin on Reiner’s face. “It’ll be better than sitting outside in the snow, right?”

Bertolt laughs softly, nodding. “That’s a good point.”

“You can make the popcorn chain, I’ll cut out stars from the cardboard I brought home from the stockroom, and then we can hang up those lights I got at the thrift store.”

“Are they the ones from the seventies known for lighting on fire?”

“Possibly,” Reiner replies, chuckling softly. “But they’ve survived this long without killing anyone.”

“Good enough.”

Reiner gives a sleepy sigh, cuddling up against Bertolt, resting his chin on top of Bertolt’s head.

They settle in together, and Bertolt’s eyes slowly drift closed as he listens to Reiner breathe, until he hears a soft voice. 

“Bertl?”

“Mm?” Bertolt hums, tightening his hand against Reiner’s back where his arm is slung to indicate he’s awake.

Reiner hesitates, and Bertolt’s eyes flutter open in curiosity. “Mhm?” he repeats.

“I’m really happy we’re home,” he whispers, and his voice sounds uncharacteristically wistful.

Bertolt pulls back to meet Reiner’s eyes; but then, he smiles a little.

“Me too,” he agrees simply.

= = =

Bertolt’s favorite day of the week is Saturday, when he and Reiner can sleep in together. Sometimes, Bertolt will wake Reiner up with crappy instant coffee (they’re still saving up for a coffee maker), sitting on the nightstand next to him as Bertolt reads the neighbor’s stolen paper. (He always puts it back after he’s done, and there’s been no complaints about its less than pristine state so far.)

Reiner is usually the one who wakes up second. He works first shift during the week, so sleeping in is a luxury.

There’s one morning, though, when Bertolt wakes up to an empty bed.

“Reiner?” he croaks, his eyes fluttering open in confusion.

It’s early, and a cheerful ray of sunshine is falling over the blue cotton comforter where the curtains are slightly open. 

Reiner’s side of the bed is empty, and unsurprisingly, Bertolt has wrapped himself in the comforter like a cocoon.

“Reiner?” he says again louder, anxiety flooding him.

He realizes he’s never actually woken up on a Saturday without Reiner at his side before.

Splaying his hand out over Reiner’s side of the bed, he also realizes it’s cold; he’s been alone for a while.

Then, he hears footsteps through the door that’s been left slightly ajar and off-key humming in the living room.

He sighs and relaxes, sinking back into the pillow and giving a snuffling noise as he pulls the comforter back up over himself.

_“The weather outside is frightful... but the fire is sooo delightful...”_

The strains of the radio suddenly come floating into the bedroom, and Bertolt realizes Reiner’s humming along to the obnoxious Christmas music.

He sighs, closing his eyes and yawning. Bertolt has never been a very heavy sleeper until they moved into the apartment. It’s the first place he’s ever been able to completely fall into the dead of sleep without waking up at every little noise, or shifting restlessly all night. He knows he still drives Reiner crazy by flailing his limbs around—especially when it’s raining—but he’s gotten much better.

“You look kinda cute like that,” comes an amused voice from the doorway as Bertolt pulls the comforter completely over his head.

Before he can retort, Reiner launches himself at the bed, capturing Bertolt in his arms through the comforter.

“Now you can’t escape,” he declares playfully as Bertolt struggles to get his head out.

He’s laughing as he finally emerges, Reiner’s arms still around him. “As if I was trying to,” he says, rolling his eyes slightly.

Reiner seemingly agrees with this as he untangles the comforter from Bertolt’s limbs quickly—lots of practice—and slides under it with him, pulling him close.

“‘Morning, Bertl.” 

Bertolt yawns and wraps his arm around Reiner’s torso, pulling them together. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply; through the tight t-shirt Reiner’s wearing, he smells like laundry detergent, pine needles, and a scent that’s just indescribably _him._

“You’re up early,” he observes sleepily, his eyes slipping shut again.

“I got donuts,” Reiner says excitedly, practically bouncing with energy. “And I made that crappy instant coffee.”

Bertolt laughs, murmuring sleepily, “Donuts sound good. Did you get those white powdery ones I like?”

“Of course,” Reiner replies, running his hand up and down Bertolt’s bare back. “I know those are your favorite. And guess what?!”

“What?” Bertolt asks, opening his eyes to draw back and look at Reiner.

“It’s snowing!” Reiner says with a giant grin plastered over his face. “Real snow. Big, fat flakes—snowman-making snow.”

Bertolt smiles at him, leaning forward to kiss him on the mouth lazily. “I guess that means I should get up.”

“I started decorating the tree, and all those great songs are on the radio. I even got that Jiffy Pop stuff so we can make the popcorn chains.”

Bertolt laughs and reaches over to take Reiner’s hand. “Okay,” he agrees, “I’ll get up, and we can start on all that.”

“There’s one thing I want to do first, though,” Reiner says. To Bertolt’s surprise, he suddenly sounds hesitant; almost nervous.

“Uh huh?” he asks, prompting Reiner to continue his avalanche of holiday cheer that he’s become mysteriously bashful about.

“Um... first...” Now he’s outright stuttering, and Bertolt’s eyebrows raise, waiting expectantly.

“What?” Bertolt asks, tipping his head to the side curiously.

“Can we... Can we go look at window displays?” Reiner bites his lip, as if he knows he’s pushing his luck. “You know, um... in Trost? We don’t have to do it for long, and there’s just a few I want to—”

Bertolt squeezes Reiner’s hand as he interjects, “Yes.”

Reiner blinks, and then his eyes widen. “Really?” he blurts out, looking genuinely shocked.

“Of course,” Bertolt replies warmly. “I know how much you love this stuff.”

“Well,” Reiner says very quietly, pulling Bertolt closer, “I know how much you hate the city.”

Bertolt takes a slow breath in, and he nods a little. “Well, yeah,” he agrees, “I do.” He hates crowds, which Reiner knows all too well.

He takes another deep breath and steels himself. “But... I’ll go. It’s only once a year.”

“Really?” Reiner asks in surprise, his voice genuinely touched.

“Really,” Bertolt confirms, pushing his face against Reiner’s shoulder. He tangles their legs together, even though Reiner’s pants are going to get wrinkled if he’s under the covers for much longer.

“Thanks, Bertl,” Reiner whispers. He actually sounds like he might cry.

Bertolt draws back to meet Reiner’s eyes; he knows he looks surprised, and Reiner blinks rapidly in embarrassment.

“Why are you crying?” Bertolt asks in surprise.

“I’m not,” Reiner says, shaking his head. “I just... I’m really glad you don’t hate Christmas anymore.”

Bertolt gives him a soft, gentle smile. “I couldn’t hate anything if I’m doing it with you. So, let’s get up, I’ll get dressed and eat a donut, and then...” he takes a deep breath and sets his jaw, “we can drive into Trost. Okay?”

Reiner nods, the enthusiasm returning in full force. “This is gonna be great.”

= = =

“Look at this one!”

The streets are absolutely packed, and Bertolt is doing his best to keep his breakfast down.

“Bertl, c’mere. It's not as crowded over here.”

He feels immediately better when Reiner’s strong hand lands at the small of his back and pulls him close; the hand becomes an arm around his shoulders, and Reiner’s pointing through the plate glass window.

“See?” he asks, his voice filled with wonder. “It’s a train set that literally goes around all those snowy mountains.”

All the people are behind them now, and Reiner was right; there isn’t anyone shoving to get past, given how close they are to the window.

The “snowy mountains” are actually mounds covered in cotton, but Bertolt nods and smiles a little as he watches the toy train chug along its track.

“It’s nice,” he replies, but then he feels better when he looks over at Reiner who’s smiling so broadly, he looks like he’s seven again.

Bertolt smiles, too, and feels a sense of tenuous calm settle into his body. 

This is the fourth window display in two hours they’ve managed to find. At first, Bertolt could barely bring himself get out of the car where they’d parked on the street; but with Reiner’s hand in his, regardless of the looks they’d gotten being so far out of the gayborhood, he’d felt enough courage to venture forth into the overwhelming sea of people.

“Remember that one year,” Reiner says suddenly, “when we ditched school and went to the mall to look for Santa Claus?”

Bertolt laughs and rolls his eyes at the embarrassing memory. “Yeah,” he replies, nodding. “What the hell were we thinking?”

“You were a skeptic even then,” Reiner adds, amusement in his voice as he watches the train go around in circles, “but I was so sure it would get us somewhere.”

“What’d you tell Santa you wanted, anyway?” Bertolt asks curiously. “A train set?”

“No,” Reiner says, but then frowns mildly, his cheer melting away. The memory becomes bittersweet for both of them, but Bertolt is too curious to let it go without an answer.

“So, what was it you asked for?” Bertolt prompts, looking over at Reiner curiously.

“A Christmas tree,” Reiner blurts out awkwardly. He’s even blushing slightly, and he shrugs and gives a wry laugh. “Stupid, huh?”

Bertolt shifts slightly to wrap his arm around Reiner in return and watch the train.

“No,” Bertolt replies simply. “It’s not stupid.”

“Well, whatever, right?” Reiner concludes, cheering up a little as he squares his shoulders. “We have that big tree in the park, and it will always be ours.” He smiles fondly at Bertolt, turning to face him.

“Only that tree isn’t covered in tinsel and flammable lights,” Bertolt deadpans, and then makes a surprised sound as Reiner gives him a quick kiss.

There are a few disapproving noises behind them, but Bertolt doesn’t particularly care. Reiner would’ve never been so bold six months ago, when they first started living together, and it makes him feel very warm inside.

“I like flammable lights,” Reiner replies, his eyebrows raised earnestly. “I’ll risk death for a Christmas tree.”

“I’m well aware,” Bertolt replies wryly, before leaning forward to return the kiss through a smile.

“How much longer can you stand the crowd?”

“About an hour.”

“Okay,” Reiner nods, hanging onto Bertolt’s hand firmly. “I know exactly which ones we should see.”

Snowflakes start to flurry as they walk down the street, holding hands, and Bertolt doesn’t even see all the people around them. All he sees is Reiner, wearing that old red jacket, filled out with the reassuring line of his broad shoulders and strong arms, so confident as he leads the way. 

Reiner knows what he wants now, no longer unsure of himself.

Bertolt feels a surge of sudden happiness, and he tightens his grip on Reiner’s hand slightly.

Reiner stops and turns with an expectant expression. “You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Bertolt nods, smiling a little. “Everything is great. Can we get hot chocolate after this?”

The grin that lights up Reiner’s face is brighter than the sun, and he nods enthusiastically.

“We can drink it in the car, if you want,” he offers, squeezing Bertolt’s hand in return, “on our way back.” 

“That sounds good,” Bertolt replies, looking down at the sidewalk shyly. “This is... fun.”

Reiner’s smile grows softer, and he nods, his eyes locked with Bertolt’s. 

“It’s fun because you’re here,” he replies in a soft, tender voice. “It’s our first _real_ Christmas together.”

Bertolt nods, and feels an unfamiliar curl of excitement at the thought of going home to their own tree and doing normal holiday things.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and happily follows Reiner off into a land of elaborate window displays, toy train sets, and cotton snow.

= = =

 _“Santa Claus is comin’ to town...”_ is being crooned over the staticky radio in the kitchen, and Bertolt rolls his eyes as he works the rolling pin over the dough he’s made from scratch.

There’s a batch of cookies on the counter, a batch still in the oven, and the last one he’s working on. There should be enough for the party, but knowing Reiner, he’ll steal at least five before they even leave.

The song continues as Bertolt bends to check on the cookies in the oven, and he huffs a heavy, exasperated sigh at the annoying jingle.

He doesn’t turn it off, though.

Bertolt hated Christmas music for the longest time. It always reminded him of two things: being cold, and being lonely. 

The first year after leaving the survivalist camp, when he and Reiner had been separated in foster care, he’d heard “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” everywhere. It was in the supermarket as an eleven-year-old Bertolt was told repeatedly they couldn’t buy “special food” just because he was there; it played on the radio in his foster parents’ kitchen as they argued; it echoed over the middle school’s loudspeaker as students decorated the hallways.

It progressed in such a fashion for years. But for some reason, in all that time, Reiner never hated those songs. Even when things were bad, when he’d come to school with black eyes, he always wanted to hear the songs that Bertolt so despised.

_“It’s Christmas, Bertl! That means nothing bad can happen.”_

Nothing particularly bad ever did happen; at least not on Christmas. Nevertheless, Bertolt hated those songs as much as Reiner loved them. In fact, as a kid, he hated Christmas in general since he was constantly told to “cheer up” because it was the holidays. Most of the time, he wasn’t even feeling sad, so much as shy and quiet; which he was—and still is—to an almost painful degree.

In fact, Bertolt spoke so infrequently as a child and right on into adolescence that his teachers started to think he had severe learning or cognitive disabilities.

It was only when Reiner would sit next to him in class and ask him the answers to the questions, that people realized he was capable of doing basic math.

Things improved a little in high school, but Bertolt was still cripplingly shy. 

Reiner knew he hated Christmas music; and then, one year, it changed when Reiner made a fool of himself by singing “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” unprompted at a school assembly.

No one even knew what to make of it. Reiner wasn’t particularly quiet, but he did tend to keep to himself most of the time.

 _What_ possessed him to hop on stage during that assembly and give an out-of-tune yet rousing rendition of the horrible song Bertolt could never figure out, but for the first time, he’d laughed.

The song had never been the same after that. Bertolt gradually warmed up to Christmas music over the years, almost solely because Reiner loved it so much. 

Bertolt blinks as the timer buzzes on the counter, startled out of his reminiscing.

Just at that moment, he also hears the deadbolt click back on the front door, and he smiles.

“Something smells amazing!” Reiner sings as he shuts the door behind him, stamping his boots against the entry mat.

Bertolt doesn’t answer right away as he pulls on the oven mitt and opens the oven.

“I love this song!” Reiner declares from the doorway, and Bertolt looks over his shoulder and laughs a little. “And you hate this song,” Reiner continues, laughing with raised eyebrows.

“I don’t hate it,” Bertolt replies softly, setting the cookie tray on the stovetop to cool down. “Not since you gave such a spectacular performance of it that one year.”

Reiner laughs, walking up behind Bertolt to put both hands on his hips and kiss his neck.

“You smell like frosting,” he says, his voice low and eager.

“I made vanilla frosting.”

Reiner turns Bertolt around so that they’re pressed up against each other, his eyes wide. He has to tip his face up ever so slightly to meet Bertolt’s eyes, and Bertolt smiles.

“You _made_ frosting?” Reiner exclaims. Suddenly, his expression is very eager. “Can I taste it?”

Bertolt nods, reaching toward the counter to drag his finger through the mixing bowl with the frosting, and then offers it to Reiner.

Reiner grins as he takes Bertolt’s finger into his mouth, letting out a groan as his eyes slip shut.

“That’s amazing,” he says as Bertolt pulls his hand back. “ _You’re_ amazing.”

Bertolt blushes and immediately looks away, shaking his head. “Not really, but I’m glad you like it.”

Suddenly, Reiner’s fingers are against his jaw as he gently turns Bertolt’s face forward again, and then leans up to press a soft kiss against his lips.

He tastes like vanilla frosting, and Bertolt sighs as he wraps both arms around Reiner’s neck. He’s strong and smells like wood smoke from being outside. It’s strange how sometimes the air can smell such a way in the city, but it does.

“So,” Reiner says, pulling back slightly and letting both his hands remain at Bertolt’s waist, “do I have to dress up for this?”

Bertolt starts to laugh. “No.”

Reiner grins a little sheepishly. “I would if I had to, but I don’t really want to.” Suddenly, his eyes drop as he reaches down to his pocket. “By the way, I almost forgot...”

Bertolt groans audibly as Reiner pulls out a sprig of mistletoe and holds it above them.

“You’re _not_ seriously doing this right now.”

Reiner just grins shamelessly at him.

“Love you,” he says, and then gives Bertolt a very serious kiss on the mouth that promises a lot more after they get back from the party. 

Bertolt is momentarily distracted from the fact that they’re kissing under mistletoe Reiner’s holding over them like a bad romantic comedy, because he feels like he’s melting. The heat and softness of Reiner’s lips are mesmerizing.

When the kiss finally breaks, Reiner draws back, handing the mistletoe to Bertolt.

“It might come in handy,” he explains, winking.

Bertolt sighs, raises his eyebrow, but tucks the mistletoe into his back pocket. He gives a long suffering sigh, but smiles a little. 

“You’re impossible,” he finally concludes, reaching up to caress Reiner’s jaw fondly with his thumb.

Reiner leans into him again, kissing his temple, before reaching around him to steal a cookie from the counter.

“Hey! Those aren’t even frosted yet!” 

“If there’s any of that frosting left,” Reiner calls over his shoulder, already halfway to the bedroom as he munches on the cookie, “we can put it to better use later, if you know what I mean.”

Bertolt is blushing so hotly by the time he hears the bedroom door shut, he feels like he could bake the cookies himself.

Nevertheless, he makes sure there’s a little frosting left over.

= = =

The party is in full swing by the time Bertolt and Reiner arrive. It’s after hours, and the special event room in the back has been commandeered by the restaurant staff. There’s liquor flowing, music playing, and hoards of people Bertolt’s never met before—obviously the friends, family, and significant others of his coworkers. 

He’s relieved Reiner is with him.

“Hi, Bertolt!” the friendly hostess who’d badgered Reiner into convincing Bertolt to come greets them. “Oh my god, did you make the cookies?” she asks, her eyes wide and eager.

“Um,” he stutters, blushing immediately, “yeah. There’s a bunch.”

He holds the tray out awkwardly, as if offering a sacrificial lamb, and she takes them, singing at the top of her voice, “Bertolt made cookies!”

Reiner starts to chuckle as the cookies are placed on the refreshment table, and a legitimate mob gathers around to dig in.

Within ten minutes, there are only a few cookies left, and the hostess is practically moaning over the frosting.

“Thank you,” she says to Reiner, stepping forward to actually hug him, “for convincing him to come. And to bake, of course. These are amazing, Bertolt.” She gives them both a friendly smile, and then goes back to her post at the punch bowl.

Reiner turns his head to bump his forehead against Bertolt’s temple. “See?” he asks quietly. “Everyone loves your food.”

Before Bertolt can deny it, Reiner takes his hand and squeezes it. “You ready to go out there and get a drink? Maybe a little food?”

Bertolt closes his mouth, takes a deep breath, and then nods in agreement. “‘Kay,” he replies softly.

Once they move through the crowd, Bertolt starts to relax a little since he recognizes a few faces. They greet him and Reiner warmly, and there aren’t any odd stares that they’re together.

In fact, he can already see the sous-chef with his own partner, a man in his mid-forties. There are perks to this job that go beyond flexible hours, decent wages, and friendly coworkers. It’s a relief not to have to hide; especially at this time of year.

After hitting up the food table, they stand in the corner together, just watching everything as it happens.

“Wow, these decorations are really nice,” Reiner remarks in wonder, staring at the elaborate garlands and holly berry wreathes dotting the room.

“They bring someone in,” Bertolt explains, taking a small bite out of the quiche he’d picked up from the refreshment table. “It’s all professionally done, I think.”

Before Reiner can reply, one of Bertolt’s coworkers bounds up to them.

“Hi, Bertolt!” she says cheerfully with a big grin. “Hi, Reiner.”

“Hey,” Reiner says, smiling and holding out his hand. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” she says, nodding and shaking Reiner’s hand. She seems a little more bubbly than usual—Bertolt then realizes that most of the punch is gone, and it has a kick—and friendly. “So, are you guys celebrating at home this year?”

Bertolt nods a little, but then to his surprise, Reiner looks like a deer in headlights.

“Because,” the oblivious girl continues, “I wanted to do that, but my parents are begging me to come home. They gets this obnoxiously huge Christmas tree every year, but it’s sort of nice.” She shrugs a little. 

Bertolt forces himself to speak when Reiner doesn’t say a word, and he takes Reiner’s hand in his. “Yeah,” he says, nodding, “we’re spending this year at home.”

She winks, and Bertolt’s sure he goes beet red when she follows up with, “Guess it’s too soon to introduce him to your folks, huh?”

As she says it, her face immediately goes from slightly tipsy to embarrassed, and she blanches. “I’m sorry!” she cries. “That was so forward of me. It’s the punch.” She’s still blushing as Bertolt stares at her in mortification, but then, Reiner saves the conversation as he recovers.

“It’s okay,” he says, laughing with a sound that Bertolt knows if forced, “we’re not big on family traditions. We’re just... going to stay here this year.”

The girl obviously wants to leave the awkward fumble behind, and she nods. “Yeah, my parents are super old-fashioned. I’m not into that, to be honest. Christmas isn’t really my thing.”

She gives a nervous laugh and an apologetic look, and then squeaks out, “Have a good time!” Then, she turns on her heel and walks away.

Bertolt looks over at Reiner, cringing a little, but Reiner isn’t meeting his eyes.

“Reiner?” he asks. 

Reiner blinks, and then turns his head to focus on Bertolt. “What?” he asks.

“Are you okay?” Bertolt continues, concerned now. 

Reiner grins a little, rubbing the back of his head; Bertolt knows he’s hiding something, though.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he says, nodding.

Bertolt just looks at him helplessly, not knowing what to do. He’s not the one who usually has to get Reiner to admit what he’s thinking; that’s usually Reiner’s role, and Bertolt is the quiet one.

But right now, as Reiner gives him a painful grin with his lips stretched a little too tight and tension at the edges of his mouth, Bertolt senses something’s awry.

Wracking his brain to try and figure it out, instead, he opts for something he thinks will make Reiner laugh.

“Here,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the mistletoe, “I’ll hold it this time.”

Reiner blinks in surprise, and Bertolt shoots it up into the air as he bends forward to kiss Reiner on the mouth.

He draws back just as quickly, trying to smile. “There,” he declares, “merry Christmas.”

To his surprise, though, Reiner doesn’t even crack a smile. Instead, he cups Bertolt’s face and gives him a long, tender kiss. It’s not playful or even lustful; it feels more like desperation or longing, as if Reiner is searching for something he’s not finding and seeking consolation.

When the kiss breaks, he draws back and shoves his hands into his pockets.

“I’m going to get some cookies, okay?” he asks. “Will you be okay by yourself?”

Bertolt smiles a little and nods. “Don’t worry about me,” he replies, reaching out to touch Reiner’s shoulder, as if he can heal whatever it is that’s suddenly bothering him.

Reiner gives him a half-sincere smile, and turns to walk back toward the refreshment table.

Just as he leaves, another coworker engages Bertolt in conversation, pelting him with excited questions about the cookie recipe. 

It’s at least half an hour when he realizes Reiner hasn’t returned, and he starts to get worried and search.

He looks everywhere—the bathroom, the refreshment table, even outside—but to no avail. 

Finally, the same girl who’d made the social gaffe before sees him. “Bertolt!” she says, even more visibly intoxicated now. “Reiner said he was going outside for some air, but he’d be right back! Merry Christmas!” she cries, and then disappears back into the crowd.

Bertolt immediately makes his way to the front doors to see if Reiner’s there, but unsurprisingly, he’s not.

His car is still parked out front, though, and Bertolt just stands there for a moment, staring at it.

He has a set of spare keys in his bag, just in case he ever needed to drive the car when Reiner wasn’t around, and he considers using them. 

Where would Reiner go on Christmas Eve by himself? And not take his car?

And suddenly, something clicks. It happens as he’s staring at the ridiculous little Santa hat that Reiner has hung from the car’s rearview mirror. 

There are so many little details about the car that Reiner’s decked out like some sort of holiday monstrosity; he loves Christmas.

Bertolt also knows that loving something means having a lot to lose, and then he knows where Reiner is.

= = =

Bertolt’s never been very good at driving manual. Reiner has tried to teach him repeatedly, and although he’s gotten the hang of it somewhat, he still grinds the gears something awful.

Nevertheless, he manages to make the ten minute drive to his destination. 

When he pulls into the parking lot and kills the engine, everything is very quiet. The parking lot is empty and silent, almost uncannily still, and snow has started to fall. Everyone else is inside merrymaking, sitting down with their families for Christmas dinner, introducing new significant others to “the folks”—all things Bertolt and Reiner have never gotten to do. Things they’ll never get to do.

Bertolt gets out, careful to make sure the doors are locked, before starting the short walk to the public park. It’s frigidly cold and dark, but the park itself isn’t very large, so he isn’t a bit surprised by what he sees when he finally reaches the clearing.

In front of him is a sight for sore eyes: Reiner, sitting on the ground without even a hat as the snow falls, just staring up at that tree that’s been “their” Christmas tree every year.

Bertolt knows he can hear the crunch of boots, but doesn’t turn around; and suddenly, seeing him there alone, Bertolt feels like he’s going to cry.

But he doesn’t, and instead makes his way up to sit down on the ground next to Reiner.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey,” Reiner replies just as quietly. “Sorry...” His voice is more like an exhalation, uncharacteristically timid and sad. “I was going to come back. I wasn’t going to leave you there.”

“It’s okay,” Bertolt replies gently, reaching over to take Reiner’s hand. “I was ready to go anyway.”

Reiner nods a little, and doesn’t let go of Bertolt’s hand.

After a few minutes, it starts to snow harder. The flakes are landing in Reiner’s short cropped hair, and Bertolt frowns a little.

Reiner turns in surprise as Bertolt pulls off the hat he's wearing and places it on Reiner's head instead.

“It’s snowing,” he says simply.

Reiner just stares at him, reaching up to brush the knit hat with his fingertips.

“Is this...”

“Yeah,” Bertolt says softly, blushing a little as he drops his eyes to stare at Reiner’s shoulder. “It’s the same one.”

“The hat I got you that one really cold winter... what was it?” Reiner has a little smile in his voice now. “Sophomore year?”

“Junior,” Bertolt corrects softly. “It’s really warm, but I’m okay, because now I’ve got this jacket.”

Reiner doesn’t argue and pulls the hat down over his ears, shivering a little.

“Why’d you leave?” Bertolt asks bluntly after a few moments.

Reiner takes a shuddery sigh, and Bertolt realizes quite suddenly how close he is to crying.

“Because...” he starts, his voice wavering. Bertolt gets close and puts his arm around Reiner’s shoulders.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, rubbing his hand up and down Reiner’s upper arm to warm him up. 

“Because,” Reiner repeats, clearing his throat, “this is where we celebrate every year. This is the only real tree.”

“But we have our own tree now,” Bertolt replies carefully, “with all that tinsel, lights, mistletoe.” He laughs a little, turning his head to press a kiss against Reiner’s temple.

Reiner shudders, though, shaking his head. “I’m sorry for making you do all this stupid stuff—fucking window displays, ugly decorations, hoards of people, those stupid carols you hate.”

“You love Christmas, though,” Bertolt replies in surprise, his eyebrows raising. “I thought—” 

“I don’t want to do any of this next year,” Reiner whispers harshly. “I don’t want to do it ever again. I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid for so long.” 

“Reiner...” Bertolt murmurs in shock.

There’s a tense moment, until Bertolt blurts out, “It’s _not_ stupid.” His voice is stronger than he thought it would be. “I like it—I like kissing you under the mistletoe.” He clears his throat awkwardly. “I liked decorating the tree, and baking the cookies. I liked those window displays, even though I hate crowds.”

And he knows that, deep down, despite what Reiner says, he loves it, too—mistletoe, magic, lights, and gaudy decorations.

“I liked it,” he repeats, “because I did it with you.” He squeezes Reiner’s hand reassuringly, shaking his head. “This will always be our tree, but we have somewhere to go now.”

Then, comes the part that Bertolt’s been waiting for—the reason he knows Reiner left.

“How do I know it’s going to be there tomorrow?” Reiner whispers, his voice wavering. “That we’ll have a tree, or an apartment? What if it all just disappears?”

Bertolt pulls him closer and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Maybe it will,” he replies softly, “but I’ll always be here.”

There’s a short silence, and Bertolt reaches over to rub his thumb over Reiner’s cheek, which, as he suspected, is wet. “Don’t cry,” he says softly.

Reiner sniffles a little, but no more tears slide down his cheeks after the first few.

Then, Bertolt suddenly remembers what’s in his bag, and he stands up. “C’mon, it’s cold. Come back to the car?”

Reiner sighs, turning his head to look up at Bertolt from where he’s still sitting. His eyes are red and he looks so very un-Reiner-like that it makes Bertolt’s heart ache.

Bertolt holds out his hand, waiting. Reiner takes one last look at the big tree, and finally rises, accepting Bertolt’s hand.

They walk back to the car together slowly, Bertolt’s arm wrapped protectively around Reiner.

“You don’t have to drive,” Reiner says softly as Bertolt heads for the driver’s side.

“It’s okay,” Bertolt replies softly. “I got here in one piece, but you might want to check the gears.”

That gets a weak laugh, and Bertolt smiles at Reiner over the roof of the car, before they both climb in.

Bertolt turns the key in the ignition, blasting the heat as Reiner settles into the passenger seat.

“I got you something,” he says simply, reaching into the backseat for his bag.

Reiner’s eyes widen. “You did?” he blurts out.

Bertolt doesn’t answer right away, pulling out the small object that he’s haphazardly wrapped in gaudy, sparkly paper.

“Here,” he says, holding it out to Reiner.

Reiner blinks, but then accepts the gift, staring at it in shock as if Bertolt just gave him a million dollars. 

Before Reiner can open it, Bertolt drops his eyes to stare at the steering wheel. “Um,” he starts, but forces himself to continue, “you know those pictures we have on the wall? The ones of us from high school?”

“Yeah,” Reiner answers uncertainly, giving Bertolt a curious look. “Do you not like them?”

“No, it’s not that,” Bertolt corrects, nervously tapping one of his fingers against the steering wheel. “It’s just that... you know the one from after the concert, and how I look all freaked out?”

Reiner hums an affirmative, waiting.

“And you know the other one, where you look... kind of sad?”

There’s another nod, and a slight flush of embarrassment.

“That’s what this is,” Bertolt concludes cryptically. “Open it.”

There’s the slight crinkle of paper as Reiner unwraps the gift, taking his time as if the paper itself is part of the present. Next comes the tissue, until finally he gets to what’s underneath.

Then, he just sits there, holding the gift and staring at it incredulously.

It’s a framed photograph of them, both smiling. Reiner’s arm is on Bertolt’s shoulder as he bends forward to steal a bite of food, and Bertolt is in mid-smile as he turns to look at Reiner and reprimand him.

It had been one of the nights he’d made food after hours at work, and his coworkers had kept asking if Reiner would come again. They all loved him—like everyone did that talked to Reiner for more than five minutes—and the hostess had been snapping pictures of everyone.

Bertolt had been so mortified when he realized that he could barely talk to her for weeks, until she developed the pictures and showed him that there was only a single one he was in to make him feel better.

To say the least, she’d been a little surprised when he asked for a copy.

“We’re both smiling,” he says simply, swallowing hard. “So, I thought...”

“Bertl,” comes Reiner’s whispery voice as he continues to stare down at the photo, “I hope you know how much I love you.”

Bertolt feels his own lip wobble a little, but he holds it together.

“I know,” he says softly, reaching out to put his hand over Reiner’s where he’s holding onto the framed picture. “Me too.”

They sit like for a long time with the heat going, the snowflakes melting as soon as they hit the warm windshield. 

Finally, Bertolt asks softly, “You ready to go home?”

Reiner just nods, and as Bertolt pulls away to shift the car into gear, out of the corner of his eye he sees Reiner clutch the photo against his chest, right over his heart.

= = =

“Bertl.”

“Mm?”

“Bertl!”

“Wha...?”

_“Bertolt!”_

“What?!”

Bertolt rolls over, blinking into the dark room, scowling until he realizes he’s not having an annoying dream. Someone is poking his shoulder, and as he forces himself into coherence, as he realizes it’s Reiner.

“What time is it?” he groans.

“It’s Christmas-morning-time!”

“Reiner, are you serious?”

There’s quiet chuckle, and then a shameless snuggle against Bertolt.

Bertolt gives a long-suffering groan, and then starts to laugh, embracing Reiner.

“Okay,” he sighs, trying not to fall back asleep. “Wait, why are we getting up this early?”

“I got us something.”

That wakes Bertolt up more, and he opens his eyes to focus on Reiner’s face in surprise.

“Huh?”

“I set the timer and I want to see if it worked.”

Suddenly, the distinct smell of coffee hits Bertolt’s nose, and he hears the unmistakable staccato puff of steam undoubtedly coming from a coffee maker in the other room.

“Before you ask,” Reiner says, holding up his hand, “no, I didn’t spend money. Believe it or not, I won it in the holiday raffle at work.”

“You won a coffee maker?” Bertolt exclaims in disbelief. 

“Talk about perfect timing, huh?” Reiner replies with a little smile. He leans over to plug in the Christmas lights above their bed, and then pulls Bertolt against him with a happy sigh. 

“Yeah,” Bertolt agrees quietly, curling up with his head under Reiner’s chin. “Perfect.”

The glow of the lights and Reiner’s even breathing almost lull Bertolt back to sleep, until Reiner forces him to get up, albeit with some grumbling.

They sit together on the couch drinking real coffee, watching the sky turn from black into a rich blue color.

“Merry Christmas, Bertl,” Reiner says softly. Bertolt is vaguely aware of Reiner taking the empty cup from his limp fingers and setting it on the table in front of them.

“Merry Christmas,” Bertolt mumbles, only half-coherent as his head falls against Reiner’s shoulder. “Next year?” he adds. 

“Yeah?” Reiner replies.

Bertolt readjusts himself as he leans fully against Reiner. “Can we go ice skating?”

There’s a soft laugh and a kiss against Bertolt’s hair, before Reiner says softly, “I’d like that.”

When Bertolt wakes up again, Reiner is snoring next to him on the couch. The tree is still there, the lights are still on, and the snow is still falling.

Everything is the same, and they’re home.


End file.
